


Shock

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was frightened because this force was malicious in attacking him, both physically and emotionally. They had tried to ruin his reputation, tried to frame him for murder, tried to kill him! He wanted to make sure Lewis was safe, that they hadn’t gotten to him, too. (Missing scene from "Masonic Mysteries.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written as Gen, but can certainly be read as Morse/Lewis if you've got your shipping goggles on ;)

“Morse! Morse!”

Morse pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He felt weak and dizzy, his legs barely able to hold him. But he made up for this by weaving through the crowd of bystanders, making it harder for Strange to find him.

He didn’t want to be found. He wanted to make sure Lewis was safe, that they hadn’t gotten to him, too. He was frightened because this force was malicious in attacking him, both physically and emotionally. They had tried to ruin his reputation, tried to frame him for murder, tried to kill him! He couldn’t imagine the same horrors directed at his sergeant. He couldn’t protect Lewis from that.

Lewis. He had to find Lewis.

His mind was hazy, his head heavy. Something caught in his throat and he coughed. Satisfied that he’d lost Strange for now, he tried to listen, shivering. He was so cold. 

“All right, all right, get back!”

Finally! Morse had never been happier to hear his Geordie sergeant. He followed the sound of Lewis’ voice and saw him working with a handful of PCs to push back the rushing crowd of journalists and bystanders. He reached up and placed a hand on Lewis’ shoulder. The feel of the freshly laundered jacket under his fingers and the wafting scent of his vaguely feminine cologne relaxed him. “Lewis.” It was the only word he could say, but he wanted so badly to express much more; “I’m glad you’re safe. I was so frightened.” He knew, distantly, that he was in shock, but he couldn’t help it. He took comfort in Lewis’ presence.

Lewis turned at the touch and sighed in relief. “Sir. Yer all right.” He could feel Morse’s hand, trembling, moving down to grip his bicep. His guv was smiling, eyes bright with unshed tears. Lewis returned the smile, trying not to let on that Morse’s grip was tightening, hurting him. He reached up to gently pry Morse’s fingers from him. “You’re shivering.” He fussily adjusted the blanket so that it covered more of Morse’s shoulders. The older man reached up clumsily to brush his fingers across Lewis’. The young man mirrored the touch, knowing that Morse was probably in shock and needed the reassurance.

“I’m so glad you’re safe.” Morse said, his voice rough.

“Aye. An’ Val an’ the kids are, too.” Robbie confirmed, watching some of the tension leak out from Morse’s shoulders. The way he was shaking, though, did not put Robbie at ease. It wasn’t that cold outside, after all. Had he perhaps been injured? Robbie wondered briefly if Morse had eaten anything in the past few days. He knew his guv’s stomach could get into awful knots due to corpses and stress. And the last few days had not been relaxing, to say the least.

It occurred to him that the world did not consist of only the two of them. He forgot how easy it was to lose himself to Morse’s gravity sometimes, as if they were the only two people in the whole world. “Let’s get yeh somewhere quiet.” He wrapped an arm around Morse’s shoulders. The older man initially tensed at the touch, but soon relaxed, leaning slightly into Lewis as he guided them away from the noise.

“I was worried they’d find you, too.” Morse murmured. “I didn’t want you hurt, Robbie. Not because of me.”

“Ah know, sir. But we’re okay.” Robbie reassured him. He had the feeling he might be doing so a lot, but Morse needed to hear it, so he didn’t mind. He got Morse out of the crowd and started to walk away from the house, towards the ambulance still waiting at the end of the street. Morse looked up and, once he noticed where they were headed, froze.

“No.”

Robbie let go of Morse and watched him. The older man was shivering again, still wrapped in his blanket. “What’s wrong?”

“They…” Morse clumsily indicated his mouth. “It was poison. They wanted to poison me. It was Bottomley. He’s in on it.” He looked up at Lewis, eyes firm and mouth set. He was sure of this.

Lewis relaxed his posture, hoping to relax Morse in turn. “It was an oxygen mask, sir.” He said matter-of-factly, the way he usually did to get Morse back down to earth. “The ambulance people probably thought you needed some help breathing.” He only knew that from being in an ambulance himself. 

Morse relaxed slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bottomley was still in it. He’s a Mason. So is Strange.”

Robbie didn’t bother pointing out that Masons and bad guys rarely had a correlation, but he let it lie. Morse was only frightened and in shock. He would come to his senses soon. Instead, Robbie checked Morse’s pulse. To his mind, it was a little fast, but, not being a doctor, he didn’t know if it was something to be worried about or not. Morse’s fingers traced over his pulse point, as if Morse was checking Robbie’s pulse, too.

Suddenly, Morse tensed up again, glaring. “Strange.” He curled slightly, making himself small. Robbie positioned himself slightly in front of him to make him feel protected.

Strange approached. “There you are, Morse.” He was slightly out of breath.

Morse did not respond, as if he was pretending not to hear. Knowing Morse, that was exactly what he was doing. Robbie had to fight hard not to laugh.

Strange gave up and turned instead to Lewis. “Is he all right?”

“Yeh. He’s in shock, though. Has he been looked over?” Robbie tilted his head towards the paramedics.

“He saw Bottomley and fought them off.”

Robbie had a mind to tell Strange what a stupid idea that had been, but he refrained. “Ah’ll go over with him, sir. Is the kitchen all right? Ah think he could do with a cuppa.”

“I can have a PC go and look into it for you.” Strange replied.

“Thank you, sir.” Robbie replied. Strange nodded once and turned to make his way back through the crowd.

“C’mon,” Robbie encouraged Morse, turning around. “Let’s go get you looked over, okay?”

“No.” Morse replied. “I’m staying here.”

“Please?” Robbie bent slightly so he could look Morse in the eye. “Ah just want to know yer okay. Ah’m worried about yeh.”

The earnestness in Robbie’s voice made Morse soften. “All right, if I must,” he said begrudgingly. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s getting on dawn as Morse receives a clean bill of health, with a few notes on the smoke damage; temporary, due to the strength of his lungs. Lewis is pleased, but tired. He wants to go home, get a few hours kip. He feels he can, now; Morse looks significantly less in shock. He is sitting primly with an air of distaste even as he patiently lets the single paramedic look him over. Back to normal, then. Or nearly. This fright would stay with any man, least of all Morse.

Morse feels himself return to the living fully, as if waking from a dream. The shock has nearly worn off (he’s almost hungry, but he honestly can’t remember his last decent meal), and he is very thirsty. Luckily, the paramedic provides cool, clear water and he drinks deeply.

He can see Robbie looks tired, but his sergeant smiles with a relief that is palpable. He is rumbled, hair not as slicked as it usually is. It strikes Morse as fluffy; it reminds him of cat fur.

While his mind is wandering, he hears clearance from a PC that his kitchen was untouched by the fire and the rest of the house is secure. His stomach sinks as he thinks about the loss he’s no doubt sustained; there is time to look over the damage later, once he’s had coffee.

Robbie helps him out of the ambulance, something Morse lets him do. It isn’t something he’d normally tolerate, but he’s just getting used to his limbs again (the shock took awareness of his body away from him, but it’s coming back slowly now) and besides, just as he needed to touch Robbie, to see him physically alive and well, Robbie needs this, to know that Morse is whole and well again. It had been a scare for both of them. Morse’s heart buoys as he sees the affection in Lewis’ eyes. He almost wants to turn away…but he returns the gaze instead, with honest and firm reassurance and a mirroring of that same affection. They are both saying: “I’m glad you’re mine.”

They walk to the house together, shoulder to shoulder (well, nearly; Morse is a head shorter) in companionable silence. There’s not much one can say, anyway.

Robbie hesitates in the front hall. “Did yeh want to change?”

“No, I’ll do that later.” Morse smiles briefly and waits for Lewis’ cue. Robbie starts towards the kitchen and looks back, a question in his eyes.

Morse nods and steps after him. His eyes say: “Lead the way.” 

They both have learned to read each other wordlessly. Facial expressions are easiest, but small cues, such as an eyeroll, the quirk of lips, the shifting of stances are all useful tools. It’s nice to be able to say “he’s an arse” or “she’s lying” without voicing it.

Morse sets about making tea and Robbie fetches bread for toast. They move easily around each other in a harmony that would make feng shui jealous. Lewis knows his way around Morse’s kitchen by now, even knows where Morse puts things like his sugar bowl and tea, which never seem to be in the same place twice. Morse knows his organization style looks ordinary on the surface, but everything is organized according to what makes sense to him, something he started in his youth, and he knows it confuses some. Robbie, however, can navigate it with ease. But Morse isn’t surprised; he smiles, watching Robbie fighting with his old toaster in the reflection in the window. Robbie understands the way his mind works. They don’t always agree, and they are both stubborn as mules, which doesn’t make for the best symmetry, but when they jell, they really jell, as if they become one person, united in cause and thought.  
“Let me do that.” Morse said, stepping across to help Robbie with the toaster. The kettle is humming on its own now, and it can be left to do that until it sings. “Go and fetch the tea. I just want black, no sugar. And I mean it. No sugar.” The last is a warning, half playful, half sincere. 

Robbie chuckled. “All right. I’m glad you’re feeling better, sir.”

“So am I, Lewis.” Morse puts two slices of bread into the toaster and adjusts it according to Robbie’s tastes. He’s not sure yet if he wants to eat himself or not, if the hunger is just shock or not. It seems odd to label what he feels as hunger; there’s no desire for food, though he feels his stomach is empty. The past few days have wrecked havoc on his sensitive stomach; all the same, he knows he cannot ignore it for much longer. He’ll start to ache and feel dizzy soon, and facing that while facing the remainder of this case will be intolerable.

Not to mention he’s got to kowtow five ways to Sunday in front of Bottomley.

The toast pops up. A few seconds later, the tea is whistling. Morse leaves Lewis to fetch the toast while he pours the tea into two mugs. Robbie likes his tea light and milky if he’s stressed, and Morse guesses that he is, so he makes it that way and leaves his own to steep until it’s nice and black. 

Robbie takes his, settling beside him after scraping a knife laden with butter over the toast, munching on the bread. A twinge of genuine hunger stirs restlessly in Morse’s gut, but he ignores it, settling with a grunt beside Robbie and sipping his tea.

Silence.

“Yer eatin, too.” Robbie said.

“Not that.” Morse wrinkles his face. “It’s too dark for me.”

Robbie examines his second slice of toast. “This isn’t.” He holds it out to Morse.

Morse waves it away. “I’ll eat later.” It’s a lie, and a poor one. He won’t, even if he gets hungry later. He’ll decide he can’t; the case is too important. His stomach surprises him by growling, reminding him that watching and listening to Robbie eat has indeed made him feel peckish. “It’s your toast,” he argues.

“So? Means Ah can give it away if Ah want.” Robbie insistently holds the toast out to him. “C’mon. Ah know yeh haven’t eaten.”

He hasn’t. Morse hesitates before taking it. The simple comfort food relaxes him slightly and eases the churning in his stomach. “Thank you,” he said. “I needed that.”

“Ah know.”

They eat their toast in silence. Robbie is first to finish and yawns loudly, stretching. He lightly bumps Morse’s arm with his elbow accidentally and doesn’t apologize. Morse lightly elbows him back. 

“You should sleep, Robbie.”

“Ah don’t know if Ah could get behind the wheel.” Robbie chuckled sleepily.

Morse cranes his neck to glance out the window. “And no one’s getting through that mess, otherwise I’d offer to run you myself.” He finishes toast and tea both. “I’m afraid I can’t offer the sofa.”

That startles a laugh out of Robbie. “Yeh’ve got a guest room.”

“Cheeky.” Morse elbows him again. “Is Val waiting up for you?”

“Nah. Think she knows Ah’ll be here all night. Ah’ll go home in the morning, freshen up.”

“All right, then we’ll get our heads down for a few hours.” Morse pushes himself off the counter, abandoning his mug to the sink and thus inviting Robbie to do the same. “Come on.”

They ascend the stairs and part at the landing. Morse suddenly balks, scared to enter his bedroom alone.

Robbie appears at his back, a reassuring warmth. “They gave the all-clear, sir. Everything’s safe.”

It makes Morse relax marginally, but he still feels on edge. “Thank you.”

Lewis’ hand rests warm and reassuring on his shoulder, “Ah’m just down the hall, okay?”

Morse feels a bit silly that he has to be reassured like a child, but he is grateful all the same. “Thank you, Lewis. Good night.”

“Good night, Sir.”

“Oh, um, Lewis?”

“Yessir?”

“Wake me up before you go?”

“Aye.”

“And…” Morse smiles shyly. “Thank you. For everything. Really.” He’s never good with words when he needs to be, but, luckily, Robbie can read him like a book.

Robbie smiles warmly back. “Yer welcome, sir.”


End file.
